


Would I Know?

by mydogwatson



Series: WHILE THE MUSIC LASTS [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternative First Meeting, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 03:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/pseuds/mydogwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happened one night.  In a pub.  In an instant.  I am such a romantic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Would I Know?

**Author's Note:**

> I love alternative first meetings. There are several in this collection and this is the first.

Waited for the right one to  
find me, wondered when the  
right one would come…  
Would I know if he was right  
here beside me…would I see  
if he was in front of me.  
-Due Voci

 

The doctor paused one step inside the door of the pub. It was precisely the kind of drinking establishment he hated the most. It was trendy.

John Watson hated trendy, perhaps because he was not and never had been. He was a bit boring, but that was all right with him. Well, it wasn’t really all right, but it was what he seemed stuck with, so he made the best of it. 

It was very tempting to just turn around and leave this place, go back to his excessively dismal rented room, and watch some crap telly. He even had a couple of bottles of cheap lager on hand, so he was not dependent upon this fake pub for his alcohol intake. So a perfect evening. Crap telly. Crap lager.

Crap life.

But John Watson was known far and wide as a nice guy and he had promised his friend that he would show up. So he sighed, gripped his hated cane a little more tightly, and made his way through the room, searching for a familiar face.

“John, over here!”

He heard Mike calling and spied him, as well as his wife, ensconced at a table near the back of the pub. He raised his free hand in acknowledgment and headed in their direction.

As John moved, although he kept the amiable smile on his face, inside he was groaning. Mike and Wendy were not alone. A perky young woman in an unfortunate flowered blouse was sitting with them, watching John approach with a smile on her face.

It was a fix-up. Another bloody fix-up.

God, why couldn’t people just let him be? Ever since his ignominious return from Afghanistan, his few acquaintances seemed determined to find him a girlfriend.  
In theory, he was not opposed to the concept, but history seemed to prove that awkward meetings arranged by even the most well-meaning of friends were not going to lead to true love. Or, in most cases, not even a quick shag. But nobody seemed inclined to just give it up as a bad idea.

Again he was tempted to just leave, but instead he just leant more heavily on the cane to shake hands with Mike and give Wendy a quick kiss on the cheek. He gave the young woman, whose name was apparently Molly, a pleasant nod.

Molly from the morgue, it seemed.

Wonderful.

Mike was insisting on fetching a round of drinks for everyone. Wendy and Molly both requested wine spritzers. A bit spitefully, John ordered a Glenfeddich instead of a lager.

The conversation was almost painfully stilted. Molly seemed like a perfectly sweet girl, if a little desperate, but John could not work up even an iota of interest.

He kept nodding and smiling and sipping the whiskey, but in his head he was hearing again his sister’s voice during their most recent phone conversation.

//John, how are you going to find someone if you don’t give anyone a chance?//

//I don’t know.//

//What are you even looking for?//

//He almost said I don’t know again, but then the other words came out, the ones he had often thought, but never spoken aloud. I want to look at someone and know, just know, that this is the one. I want a soul mate, not just a shag.//

//She had scoffed at his romanticism, calling him an idiot, which was probably true. Soul mate? He was a gimpy unemployed doctor with dreadful nightmares. Not exactly soul mate material. The call with his sister ended soon after.//

No doubt she was right and he was an idiot. But John knew what he wanted and if it all was nothing more than a hopeless dream, he would rather just keep dreaming and not settle. He had ‘settled’ for so much in his life and to do so in this he thought might well kill him.

But even given all of that, John was a fair man and he decided to make one more effort. For Mike’s sake, if nothing else. He sat back and looked at Molly, really looked. Could she be The One?

Her smile was still perky and still desperate. It made him sad.

John sighed. He lifted his expensive drink and stopped looking at her face.

Then Molly looked over his shoulder and giggled. “Look, Mike,” she said. “I didn’t think Sherlock liked pubs.”

Mike followed her gaze and then shrugged. “He’s probably on a case.”

John was mildly curious, so he turned around in his chair to see whom they were talking about.

Molly was frantically waving. “Sherlock!” she called. “Over here.”

A tall thin man in a ridiculous coat turned to look towards their table. He had pale skin, a riot of dark curls, and a blue scarf knotted around his neck. He frowned, but after a moment bid farewell to the rather shady-looking character he’d been in deep conversation with and headed in their direction.

Molly had pinked up and looked absolutely delighted, much more excited than she had been to meet John.

Well, John could not really blame her for that as he watched the other man rather swoop over to their table. The stranger was an anomaly in the pub; among the ordinary, he was…ethereal. John knew that he had never before used that word. He wasn’t even absolutely sure what it even meant. But it fit this man. It really did.

Mike only smiled in greeting and then introduced his wife, to whom the newcomer gave a brief nod. Molly got an even briefer one, but it still caused her to sigh in apparent delight. “And this is an old friend of mine, John Watson,” Mike finished with a gesture. “John, Sherlock Holmes.”

John tilted his head back and then back some more, until he met a silver-green gaze.

And then he could not look away, would not have been able to even if the pub had suddenly burst into flame.  
Without really knowing what he was doing, John stood, still eye-locked, and held out his hand. “Hello,” he said. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Are you?” Sherlock Holmes [and was that even a real name?] said, sounding slightly bewildered. Finally he held out his hand and John’s fingers were wrapped in those long pale digits.

Perhaps the handshake went on a little too long for politeness, but despite that John still felt strangely bereft when those fingers were gone, pulled away slowly.

Oddly, they were still staring at one another.

Molly’s voice did not really interrupt them. “Why not have a drink with us, Sherlock?” she said eagerly, trying to pull another chair to the table.

“Hmm?” Sherlock said absently. Then, to John, he said, “Iraq or Afghanistan?”

“What?” John said.

“Iraq or Afghanistan.” The words were snapped out, as if the other man did not like to repeat himself. But he was still looking at John.

“Afghanistan, but how…”

“Sherlock,” Molly said again, patting the chair.

Finally, Sherlock blinked. “I’m working,” he said briskly. “A serial killer case. I love those. Goodbye.” Then he turned, the coat flared out, and he was gone before anybody could speak again.

John stared after him and then dropped back into his chair. His hand still felt warm and the warmth had somehow travelled up his arm and landed in the center of his chest.

“Yes,” Mike said with a smirk. “He’s always like that.”

Molly looked wistful.

John Watson did not have any idea in hell what he was going to do next. Surprisingly, he was entirely sure about what had just happened in this dreadful trendy pub. He had met a person and known immediately that it was The Person. The one he had been waiting for, probably his whole life. It was perhaps a little unsettling that this person was a man, because while he had experimented and fooled around as much as the next bloke, he had always assumed that what would follow was a wife and children and the usual sort of life.

This was not usual.

Life with Sherlock Holmes would never be usual.

It was frightening and exhilarating at the same time.

Life with Sherlock Holmes?

Well, that was the definition of presumptuous, wasn’t it?

Maybe he would never even see the other man again. But it must have meant something that he was not at all surprised when the door to the pub opened again and an already familiar figure was striding like a Colossus in their direction. No, in his direction.

He almost wanted to tell poor Molly that he was sorry.

But he could not take his eyes off Sherlock, who was back standing in front of him, staring at him again. “You’re a doctor.”

John only nodded, not even wondering how he knew that. Wondering instead just when he’d gotten to his feet again.

“Any good?”

“Very good.”

“You were at war. Saw lots of mayhem and death and trouble.”

“More than enough.”

Sherlock twitched a smile. “Want to see some more?”

“God yes.”

“Come with me?”

“Anywhere,” John said, before he knew the word was emerging.

“Could be dangerous.”

John licked his upper lip. “Good.”

Then something happened that was maybe just a little bit of a miracle. The silver-green gaze softened and went liquid just for a moment. Then it sharpened again. “Come on, John,” Sherlock said, whipping around and heading for the door.

John followed him and knew even then that he always would.

He forgot to say goodbye to Mike and the others as he chased his future.

And he left his cane propped against the table.

fini


End file.
